Jade took a deep breath. All she could do now was plead.
‘Naisha, listen to me, please. I’ve been wrongfully arrested and I’m being taken to Hillbrow police station. Please, please, let me speak to David, just for a minute. He’s the only person who can sort this out. He …’
The van rounded another sharp corner and the phone slid away from Jade’s ear.
‘Wait!’ she shouted. ‘I’m still here!’
She inched her way over to the phone, but saw that Naisha had ended the call.
After redialling, Jade found herself listening to David’s voicemail.
A cold, helpless fury filled her as she realised that Naisha had ignored her desperate request.
Her last hope was gone.
53
The police van made a final turn before jolting to a stop. Jade managed to jam her phone back into her pocket before the back door swung open, letting in the bright morning light, and the police officer helped her out. ‘Fresh’ was not an adjective Jade would have thought of using to describe Hillbrow’s air, but after the rubbery stench in the police van, it smelled wonderful, and she breathed it in with relief. It might be some time before she tasted outside air again.
The officer—not the detective in charge of the Msamaya murder case, but one of his assistants—walked with her, keeping a hold on her handcuffs. They didn’t go in through the main entrance, but walked the short distance across the parking lot to a door that Jade assumed led directly to the holding cells.
‘What’s she in for?’ The large lady constable at the desk looked curiously down at the cuffs.
‘Escaping a roadblock and possession of an unlicensed firearm.’
‘Oh.’ The constable yawned hugely, putting her half-finished plate of food aside before reaching under the desk and producing a blurry photocopied form.
Her father would have spontaneously combusted if that slapdash attitude had been shown in his precinct. The officer who’d brought her in didn’t seem too bothered, though. He removed the cuff on her right wrist and clipped it to a sturdy handle set into the wall beside the desk. Then he turned and left.
Nothing like being a flight risk to complicate things, Jade decided.
Flight …
And then she thought again of the letters on the crumpled envelope addressed to Themba Msamaya.
ATCSA.
The pieces of the puzzle finally slotted into place. Fitting neatly and well, but fitting together too late.
The meaning of the acronym.
The dark shape she’d been groping for rose to the surface of her mind, its form suddenly solid.
Of course. Why had she been so slow?
In a leisurely fashion, the constable in the chair completed the admission form. If Jade’s sense of humour hadn’t deserted her, she would have been amused to note that this was done manually, while the screen saver on the computer swirled in the background. As it was, she could barely stop herself from screaming in frustration as she spelled her name out for the constable.
‘De Jong. Two words. D-e, then J-o-n-g.
Soon, Jade’s pockets were emptied and her cellphone, wallet and car keys were lying in a neat row on the scarred wooden surface. Then she waited for what seemed like hours as the lady constable noted down each and every one of the items.
ATCSA.
There was only one possible organisation it could stand for.
Air Traffic Controllers of South Africa.
At last, she had realised the link. Both Amanda Bolton and Themba Msamaya were air-traffic controllers. Or, to be more specific, ex-air-traffic controllers. Amanda had told Jade she’d left the industry and started working as a scuba-diving instructor six months ago and, from what she had hinted at, Jade had wondered whether there had been some sort of trouble in her past.
The numbers. 813. Could they be part of a flight number?
What had happened to Amanda Bolton and Themba Msamaya that had seen them both unemployed and then murdered in the same brutal way?
And now, here she was cuffed to a bloody metal handle and about to be escorted to the holding cells.
Jade looked over at the policewoman, who had now finished misspelling the list of her personal items. ‘I was told I would be able to phone my lawyer,’ she said, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice.
The constable nodded and she raised her index finger.
‘One call only,’ she said.
‘Can I use my own phone?’
The constable’s brow furrowed in thought.
‘Yes, if you like.’
Quickly, Jade scrolled through her phone’s address book. She noticed her left hand was trembling very slightly. She really didn’t want to have to make this call, but she was out of options.
Robbie answered after one ring.
‘Babe. Is this a yes, then?’
Jade took a deep breath. ‘May I please speak to Mr Goldstein?’ She paused for a beat. ‘You have two people with that name there? I mean Mr Ian Goldstein, the attorney.’
Although Robbie hadn’t hung up, he wasn’t saying anything either. Just listening.
So was the lady constable.
Jade pretended to listen again, then responded.
‘I’ll wait. If he’s on another call, I’ll hold. Please could you tell him it’s urgent, though. I’m phoning from the police station.’
Now Robbie spoke, but softly. ‘Is this call being recorded?’
‘No.’
‘You’re in trouble, babe?’
‘Yes, I am. I’ve been arrested,’ Jade said.
‘Need help?’
Jade continued her conversation with the imaginary receptionist.
‘I wonder if you could do me a favour in the meantime, while I’m holding.’
‘Fire away,’ Robbie said.
‘Do you have a computer in front of you? I’d like you to look something up on the Internet. If you’re allowed to do that for clients, of course.’
‘I’ll check whatever you want on my BlackBerry, babe.’
‘Oh, that’s great. If it won’t be a problem, could you please do a Google search for flight number 813.’
The constable looked up sharply at those words.
‘I’m still holding for my lawyer,’ Jade told her quietly, her hand over the phone. ‘Just finding something out in the meantime. In connection with a case. I told you I was an investigator, remember? Look at your form. And I’m not fleeing the country, OK?’ She rattled the cuffs, as if to emphasise her words.
The constable cupped her chin in her left hand. But she kept watching Jade, and with more suspicion than before.
Robbie’s voice. ‘Interesting.’
‘What?’
‘It’s been discontinued.’
‘What? Why?’ Jade’s heart began pounding hard.
‘Withdrawn from service after an airline disaster, it says. Want the details?’
‘Please.’
‘August last year. Commercial airline flight Royal African Airlines 813 from Johannesburg to London. Flying via Freedom, Montapana, which is a tiny country on the northwest coast of Africa. The plane crashed on landing at the airport in Freedom. Everyone on board was killed. Is that the info you need? I can find out more for you if you like, but it’ll take time.’
The lady constable’s patience had run out. She grasped the desk and heaved herself to her feet.
‘He’s free. Oh, that’s great. Please put me straight through,’ Jade said hastily.
She waited a couple of seconds, then spoke again.
‘Ian, it’s Jade de Jong here. I need your help.’
Silence from the other end of the line.
‘Yes, it is urgent. I’ve been arrested on suspicion of murder. I’m at Hillbrow police station.’
‘You want out, babe?’
Jade swallowed.
She did want out. She needed to get out urgently. But even assuming that Robbie managed to accomplish the impossible and get her out of the holding cells
, she was only too aware that there would be a heavy price to pay later down the line.
Asking Robbie for help felt like selling her soul to the Devil. But if she didn’t, she might not get out of jail in time to do what she needed to.
‘You there?’
Decision made, then.
‘Yes, that would be great,’ she said, trying to maintain the fiction of talking to her lawyer.
‘I’ll try for you. I’ve got connections there. It may take a while, though. Maybe even a day.’
‘As soon as possible, please.’
‘I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘OK, then. Thank you, Ian. I know I can rely on you.’
Jade hung up and turned off her cellphone. When it was turned back on, it would require a PIN number to be keyed in before it could be used again. She really didn’t want the police checking up on the last number she had dialled.
‘Thank you so much,’ she said to the lady constable. ‘He’s got meetings after lunch, but he’ll come through later.’
The lady constable picked up the phone and called another cop. He stood by the exit door while she unlocked the handcuffs from the steel handle and cuffed Jade’s wrists together behind her back. Then, holding the cuffs in the same way that the detective had done, she hustled her out of the door at the far side of the room and along a short passage.
Around the corner at the end was a row of sturdy-looking doors with small, barred windows set into each one at eye-level. The constable opened the door to the second one on the left, unfastened her cuffs and pushed her inside, none too gently. Jade stumbled forward and heard the door slam shut behind her, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock.
The small cell had three other occupants, all black women. Two were huddled together on the hard-looking wooden bench. They glanced up at her, but didn’t speak. The third was sprawled out on a filthy mattress on the floor, sound asleep.
Jade sat down on the small space that remained at the end of the bench and stared at the peeling paint on the opposite wall.
Her mind was still racing after what Robbie had told her.
The number 813 was a flight number that had been withdrawn from service last August after a fatal crash-landing in Freedom, Montapana.
And, just a few days ago, Craig had told her that he and Elsabe had met in August in a northern African city called Freedom, after his father and Elsabe’s son had been killed in a horrific crash.
This was no coincidence. Somehow, one or both of them knew more about these killings than they were telling. Worse still, perhaps they were even directly involved.
Craig had told her he was leaving the country tomorrow morning with Elsabe. Flying to Namibia. Once they were out of the country, they could easily disappear into thin air.
Locked in a holding cell with no means of communication with the outside world, Jade could do nothing about it.
54
The holding cells remained quiet, the silence interrupted only by sporadic and muted conversation. Jade had no real idea of the time, but she thought it must have been about five P.M. when a police constable unlocked the hatch in the wall and pushed a tray through.
On it were four large plastic mugs half filled with strong black tea and eight thick slices of roughly cut brown bread smeared with margarine.
The bread was stale and the margarine smelled rancid. Jade knew she should eat; that any food would provide energy, but she couldn’t bring herself to force down even one bite of these doorstop-sized hunks. The unappetising food was only part of the reason. Her stomach was in knots. Had she done the right thing by asking Robbie to help her escape? Or would his attempt fail, landing her in even deeper trouble?
She took a mug of tea, but no bread.
‘You have it,’ she told the other women. ‘Whoever wants it, go ahead.’
Jade’s offer was gratefully received. She watched one of the women carefully divide Jade’s slices into three even portions using her fingers. After a brief conversation in what Jade guessed was Xhosa, one of the other women took a small bag of white sugar and a plastic teaspoon from a hiding place under the bench, and offered it to Jade.
‘Thank you,’ Jade said. It was a good exchange. She stirred two spoons of sugar into the lukewarm tea and drank it quickly.
A while later, when she heard voices coming from the entrance to the cells, she stiffened. Was something about to happen now?
No. It was only the change of shift. Another cop, an older grey-haired man she hadn’t seen before, walked along the passage holding a clipboard and peered briefly into their cell through the large barred window. Once his inspection was over, the lights in their cell were abruptly dimmed.
Night had officially begun.
Her three cellmates took turns sleeping on the mattress, which Jade now realised was actually two thin mattresses, one on top of the other.
She stayed where she was, on the bench, and leaned over her knees and rested her forehead on her folded arms. It was an uncomfortable position, but she thought she must have dozed off eventually, because the next thing she knew, she was jerked wide awake by a commotion outside.
The grey-haired cop was escorting another prisoner to the holding cells. A wild-eyed, dreadlocked woman who was screaming and swearing non-stop. Her bare legs kicked out at the officer behind her and Jade heard him swear as one of the woman’s high heels connected with his shin.
Jade glanced around at the other women. They stared at the new arrival with sleep-blurred eyes, but their frightened faces made it clear that this was not somebody with whom they wanted to share a cell. Jade’s first thought was that the woman was on a monster drug high.
She actually had foam at the corners of her mouth.
The cell door clanged open.
The others shrank away as the dreadlocked woman lunged through, ripping herself away from the grasp of the cop who held her before he even had a chance to get her cuffs off.
And then she slipped on the concrete floor and fell forward onto the mattress, narrowly missing the woman who had been lying there moments before. To their horror, she let out a horrible, yammering scream. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her back began to arch and her legs kicked out wildly as she went into what was undoubtedly a major convulsion.
Foam drooled from her lips as her head snapped back.
‘Call an ambulance!’ the grey-haired cop cried, and his partner went sprinting back along the corridor.
Jade was about to grab her by her shoulders and turn her head sideways before she choked on her own frothing saliva, when the grey-haired cop wrenched open the cell door, grabbed the stricken woman’s ankles and started trying to pull her out.
But then she realised that this was it. It was surely no coincidence that the woman had suffered a severe fit just as she entered the cell. This had to be the diversion that Robbie had set up for her. She certainly hoped it was.
She knew it was now or never. She had to make a run for it.
Leaping to her feet, Jade jumped over the fallen woman and shoved the crouching officer to the side as she grabbed the doorframe and pulled herself through.
He overbalanced, shouting in protest, but his voice was drowned out by the gleeful cries of her fellow inmates. ‘Run fast, sister!’ she heard one of them yell. ‘Run!’
She was out of the holding cell.
She raced back down the passage that led to the front office. God, who was in on this and who was not, she asked herself. She knew an escaping prisoner could be shot on sight. Where was the cop who’d gone to make the ambulance call? If he was in the front office as she expected him to be, she’d have him to reckon with as well.
To Jade’s relief, the front office was empty.
She burst out through the door and into the badly lit and almost empty car park. Just a few paces away, facing the exit gates, was a shiny black BMW, its engine revving.
Jade wrenched open the passenger door and flung herself into the seat.
Robbie was in th
e driver’s seat. He didn’t look at her. Before she’d even got the door closed, the big car was on the move. With a screech of rubber, he accelerated out of the car park, turned hard left and began a zigzag route through Hillbrow’s back streets. When Robbie had put some distance between them and the police station, he slowed the car, allowing Jade to fasten her seatbelt.
He turned to her and grinned. His eyes gleamed and his lips drew back from his teeth, which looked sharp and predatory in the gloom.
‘Welcome back, babe,’ he said.
55
‘Who was the woman that had the fit?’ Jade asked, struggling with her seatbelt as the BMW accelerated round a bend.
Robbie shrugged, turning his attention to the road again.
‘Friend of a friend. She’s done this before for cash. Knows what to do. What to take to make it look real. She’ll escape later, in hospital, when there’s less security around. It was the way we had to do it. Otherwise the officers on duty get disciplinaries, you see. They want to help, want to earn a bonsella—a bonus, you know how it is—but they don’t want to lose their jobs. This way nobody’s to blame. Even so, it took time, because the old guy refused.’
‘How did you convince him?’ Jade asked.
Robbie’s grin widened. ‘Upped the payment,’ he said.
Was there anybody in the South African police service who didn’t have a price, Jade wondered. Her father had been incorruptible. At any rate, his reputation for integrity had been so fearsome that when criminals had needed to get him off a case, they had opted for the riskier, but more certain, route of murder.
There was David, too, she supposed. A man who chose to go back to an unhappy marriage for the sake of an unborn child showed great integrity.
The Fallen Page 28
